This blog is my public diary of experiences that I've had as I become increasingly involved in the area of Kensington, Pa. I am including experiences that I am having as I sit down, one on one, with homeless people who are dealing with Substance Use Disorder.
All Names have been changed and, occasionally, I share a story using the opposite pronoun (he/she him/her), as an additional way to assure privacy.

Please Know...

As I come to know these fine people, they share with me more of their personal and sensitive stories. Their collective story is what I am trying to share with you as my way of breaking the stereotypical beliefs that exist. "Blog names" have occasionally been given to me by the person whose story I am telling. Names are never their actual names and wherever I can do so, I might use the opposite pronoun (his/her, etc.) just to help increase their privacy.

Sunday, September 9, 2018

She doesn't want to go outside tonight.

The purpose of this blog series has been to help the reader develop a better understanding of addiction and homelessness. On a personal level, this series has served as my place to mentally and emotionally process the experiences I've had in Emerald City, on Frankford Avenue and Kensington in general in the preceding hours or days. These writings along with prayer are my therapy in many ways.

Throughout these months, I've come to understand second hand the staggering differences between the sufferings of men and that of women on the streets. All are suffering. The suffering of women on the streets is easily tenfold that of the men. Most men on the streets would agree with that as well.

Just yesterday, I was introduced to a song and video that portrays the experiences of addicted women on the streets. Please note that the woman in this video has an apartment to call home. The ladies I know have the underside of a Conrail overpass to call their home.

And they sayShe's in the Class A TeamShe's stuck in her daydreamBeen this way since eighteenBut lately her face seemsSlowly sinking, wastingCrumbling like pastries

And they screamThe worst things in life come free to us'Cause she's just under the upper-handAnd goes mad for a couple of gramsAnd she don't want to go outside tonight'Cause in a pipe she flies to the MotherlandAnd sells love to another manIt's too cold outsideFor angels to flyAngels to fly

And they sayShe's in the Class A TeamShe's stuck in her daydreamBeen this way since eighteenBut lately her face seemsSlowly sinking, wastingCrumbling like pastries

And they screamThe worst things in life come free to us'Cause she's just under the upper-handAnd goes mad for a couple of gramsBut she don't want to go outside tonight'Cause in a pipe she flies to the Motherland And sells love to another manIt's too cold outsideFor angels to fly

Now angel will dieCovered in white, closed eyeAnd hoping for a better lifeThis time, now we'll fade out tonightStraight down the lineStraight down the line

And they sayShe's in the Class A TeamShe's stuck in her daydreamBeen this way since eighteenBut lately her face seemsSlowly sinking, wastingCrumbling like pastriesThey screamThe worst things in life come free to usAnd we're all under the upper-handGo mad for a couple of gramsAnd we don't want to go outside tonight'Cause in a pipe we fly to the MotherlandAnd sell love to another manIt's too cold outsideFor angels to flyAngels to fly, fly, flyAngels to fly, to fly, to flyAngels to die